And Having Writ
by Aitrus5
Summary: What if...the Archmage had been victorious? A alternate version of Avalon Pt. III


And Having Writ  
by Tim "Gabriel" Reynard  
treynard@holly.colostate.edu  
  
Disclamer: Gargoyles and all related characters belong to Disney,  
no profit is being made from this, yadda, yadda, yadda.   
  
Special Thanks go to Merlin "Missy" Wilson for coming up with   
great title to this piece of fiction. I LOATHE coming up with  
titles. *grins*   
  
This is a story is an alternate version of Avalon, Part III.   
It contains scenes of violence and suggestive material. Mature  
readers only, please.   
  
*****  
  
The fragrant scent of charred bone weighed heavily upon  
the Archmage's nostrils.  
Goliath was naught but ash at his feet and his victory  
over the gargoyle clan was all but assured with the coming  
sunrise.  
Finally, he had gained the ultimate power of which he'd  
always dreamed. He was flushed with power, more than he knew  
what to do with.   
He'd finally won.  
He gleefully kicked the blackened skull of his beastly  
enemy into the Pool. It sank, trailing charred  
flakes.  
All that it had taken was one word, as he had warned.   
He savored the moment, remembering the feel of the slick black hair  
beneath his fingertips as the beasts's head was pulled up   
from the ground to stare, bruised and battered at his own  
grinning face. A pitiful growl had managed to escape his lips.  
"Burn." he had said slowly, menacingly, pointing a single finger.  
Yes, Goliath would trouble him no more...  
"NO!" came the shriek from above.  
He barely had time to turn before a lavender blur of teeth  
and claws enveloped him, trying desperately to injure before he  
could retaliate.  
A magical blast threw the young one back and he laughed even  
as blood from three severe lacerations flowed freely from his forehead.  
The she-devil must have attempted to grab onto the Eye. He'd   
have to teach her to keep her claws to herself.   
Making sure she was watching, he drew his palm across  
his forehead. He felt the ripped skin tingle, then  
close up, knitting together tighter than mortar.  
To her credit, the young gargoyle was only baffled for a few  
seconds. But that was enough for him to say "Halt."  
She was paralyzed instantly, crouched down to spring. Her bulging  
eyes betrayed her terror at being unable to move, unable to speak.  
"Naughty, naughty." he said mockingly, floating over to her.   
"How would you like it if *I* put my hands were they weren't wanted,   
hmmmm?"  
He allowed her tears of rage and helplessness to flow as his hands  
explored where no other had gone.   
"You remind me of my former apprentice...such beauty in such a   
beast...of course, back then, all it took was a simple sleep spell  
subtly cast while she was meditating before her lessons...but I digress."  
he said, standing back. "Serve me in that fashion and all others, and   
I shall let you live. Do not, and you shall join your precious Goliath   
in death."   
He crooked a finger and she found she could move her head. Kept   
from even the dignity of drying her tears, her eyes flared hotly  
wishing to burn all they beheld.  
"I would rather die." she said coldly. And turned away, as if  
resigned to her fate.  
The Archmage rolled his eyes. "As you wish." He pointed his hand  
towards her and slowly closed his fist.  
The snapping of her neck sent a chill of pleasure down his spine.  
"Now..." he said, lifting his head towards the palace. "Let's  
see how my little soldiers are doing.   
With a thought, the Phoenix Gate swiftly transported him through  
space, the globe of flame vanishing behind him.   
  
*****  
  
He arrived in the orchard, taking stock of the situation. MacBeth  
was standing over the unconcious form of a...no, it couldn't be!  
"Is that...?" the Archmage said, leaving the rest of the   
sentance unspoken, irritated at the three shrews who had let this  
happen.  
"King Arthur? Aye." said MacBeth. "Timeless King or no, he wasn't  
able to withstand this." He held up his weapon, the one that somehow  
shot lightning, the Archmage remembered.  
"Does he live?"  
"Of course." MacBeth was disturbingly perturbed by the suggestion   
that he would do otherwise. "He is King Arthur. And besides that, you   
may have use for him."  
"Do you now presume to think for me, Son of Findlaech? It  
was becoming a nuisance to have to constantly exert his will upon his   
soldiers. He did so now, and the fading glow in MacBeth's eyes was restored  
in full. "Kill him. He will be more trouble than he's worth."  
"As you wish." MacBeth said, then suddenly gasped and collapsed  
in pain.   
"De...Demona...in trouble..." he grimaced, trying to get up.  
The Archmage cursed and teleported away, MacBeth shielding his   
eyes from the flame.   
Once he was gone, the King of Scotland slowly got to his feet  
and held his sword at the neck of the unconcious King of All Britain.  
He raised his sword high over his head.  
And wavered for only a second.   
  
*****  
  
The Archmage re-appeared in the main hall of the palace. One   
quick look told him that Demona had failed and was lying underneath a pile  
of rubble.   
His appearance had not gone unnoticed.  
"Leave this place, sirrah!" the so-called Guardian said, rushing   
him, sword ready to cleave him in two.  
The Archmage pulled a favorite trick he'd learned recently,   
materializing through time 10 seconds earlier behind Tom, and searing   
his back with a magical blast. The fool collapsed to the ground,   
bellowing like the beasts he had tried fuitily to guard.  
"Tom!" cried out Princess Katharine. She cried out in anger  
and began peppering the room with blasts from one of those strange  
weapons that Demona had carried with her.  
"Shield." he murmered. She swore a very unprincess-like oath  
as her shots were harmlessly absorbed by a glowing white shield that  
coalesced around his body.  
"You know, *Princess*...age hasen't treated you very well." he   
chuckled mockingly. "It's a good thing your father didn't live to see   
you turn out this way. Oh, that's right...I killed him, didn't I?"  
She screamed and continued firing blast after blast, looking  
quite the fool in his opinion. Well, enough of this.  
"Reflect." he said, and the next beam she shot ricochetted straight  
back, making the infernal device explode in her hands. She shrieked  
in pain, wringing blackened palms, collapsing to her knees.   
"Stop it!" cried out the human woman who had been with Goliath   
when he arrived on the island. He looked at her, amused. Her dark  
skin intrigued him, was she from one of those primitive desert countries?  
A wave of his hand transmuted her to a lovely white marble statue,  
still living eyes staring at him in horror.   
Backhanding the green gargoyle away from his prescence, he walked  
up to the huddled Princess and lifted her chin up gently. "Centuries  
ago I sought your throne." he whispered. "Now I shall have the world.  
And you, Your Royal Highness..." he mocked. "...may step down."   
Fingertips sizzling with electricity found her temples and  
she dropped to the floor, muscles spasming until finally relaxing in death.  
He stood and inhaled the air, reeking of death. It was a good  
day to be alive.  
He decided he'd leave Demona where she was. She'd heal sooner or  
later, and dig herself out.   
The injured gargoyles he would leave as they were. Oblivion would  
be their fate after sunrise.  
He sensed magic being cast, power being drained.  
"Ah...my former pupil." he murmered. "Time to see how much you've   
learned in my abscence."  
Elisa Maza's eyes could not even blink as the globe of flames  
took the Archmage away from them. They soon had something else to   
focus on, as Demona stirred, groaning, and dug herself out of the   
rubble. If a statue could tremble, she would have as the eyes,  
glowing strangely white, approached her.   
She wondered if this was what Goliath's rookery kin had felt  
like at the Massacre as the mace was lifted high...  
  
*****  
  
"AVALON! AID YOUR CHILDREN!"  
The Archmage was taken aback by the power of the Weird Sisters  
in all it's glory. He watched, invisible at the start of the staircase  
to the Hollow Hill.  
Winds buffeted him and in spite of the power at his command,  
he staggered.   
He would have to watch these Three. Oh yes. But he was confident  
in himself. And his power. If push came to shove, there would be  
no question.   
He watched, grimacing at the power being casually flung around  
like it was nothing. He nodded approval as the boy, no, old man, he  
corrected conjured a tree from his staff, blocking most of the wind,   
until a bolt of lightning summoned by the Three turned it into flaming  
ash. He was impressed in spite of himself. The old man was using  
his own body for a channel. And was still able to stand after such  
a monumentous effort. A credit to his teachings, the Archmage surmised  
with pride. A shame he would have to die. But he knew the Magus [such  
a stupid name at that] would never follow his vision.   
He watched as the Magus staggered towards him, trying to run  
from the witches and rightly so. They floated right through the flames  
untouched, eyes and bodies glowing hotly with their wrath. They would  
most likely take their bloody time about it. He hadn't time for such  
games, as much as he would like to watch.   
"Hello, boy." he said, materializing in front of him. "Battle  
not going well? Perhaps you should have paid more attention to your   
lessons."  
"I learned nothing from you save that I did not want to become   
like you!" retorted the Magus.   
"Yes...well, you frankly were a bit of a disappointment." said  
the Archmage flatly. The Magus was annoyed at the fact the Sister's   
storm did little but ruffle his former Master's clothing, while he  
was struggling to merely keep on his feet.   
"Katharine, he was also unable to sway..." said a hard-edged   
musical voice from behind them.  
The Magus whirled and blanched at the trio of witches that floated  
overhead. Luna, the silver-haired had spoken.  
"With nothing to offer, nothing to say..." said the blond-haired  
one said sadly. Phoebe, the Archmage remembered. It was so hard to keep  
track of them sometimes.  
"And so, in her eyes...he faded away..." finished Selene.  
They looked at him, neither menace nor pity nor happiness in their  
cool expressions.  
"SILENCE!" yelled the Magus in a grating voice. He opened his palm  
to the ground, arm hanging low.  
Magic surged into his body, fueled by rage. He gasped for air,  
he couldn't see...  
"Pity." said the Archmage innocently. "Pity that she's dead."  
No...!  
The Magus screamed out in rage and grief and turned on the Archmage,  
entire body glowing hotly with magical energy, stolen from the Island  
beneath his feet. "Youuuuuuu!" he growled weakly.  
And then the Magus felt his very being begin to crumble, his head  
swam, nerves aflame with magic...  
Too much...!  
The Archmage watched, smiling wickedly as Avalon's magic consumed  
the man, eating him from the inside out until there was nothing left.  
The Weird Sisters settled down behind him.  
"Call your children." he ordered.  
They bristled, then caught themselves. "Done." they said in unison.  
Within 10 minutes, Demona and MacBeth had joined them on the steps  
to the Hollow Hill.  
"I trust all our foes are defeated?"  
"Yes." said Demona, voice hollow.   
"Aye." said MacBeth, voice cold.   
"Even Arthur?" pressed the Archmage, exerting his will.  
MacBeth grimaced. "He sleeps once more."  
"Good."  
Finally it was finished.   
All the petty annoyances had been eliminated. The remaining   
gargoyles would die at sunrise.  
The dawn of a new era.  
His era.  
  
The End  
  
  



End file.
